


Rarer Than Champagne

by another_Hero



Category: Hustlers (2019)
Genre: Christmas, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_Hero/pseuds/another_Hero
Summary: I didn't read any Hustlers fic before I wrote this - I didn't want to have to talk myself out of anything that might have been well-covered already, particularly the name thing, which I am slightly concerned may be a feature of like...a lot of Ramona/Destiny fics - but I'm looking forward to diving into it now. I bet some of my fav Ocean's 8 fic writers have made stops here. Thanks for the prompt, angelheadedhipster. I hope you enjoyed.
Relationships: Destiny (Hustlers)/Ramona Vega
Comments: 12
Kudos: 79
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Rarer Than Champagne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelheadedhipster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/gifts).



Juliet and Lily had gone down easy, after a day like that. She’d let Ramona put Lily to bed—it would have been fine for her to go through Ramona’s cabinets for linens, fuss with the trundle on the bed, but it was fine for Ramona to put Lily down, too. She’d heard them singing together while she and Nana washed the dishes; then she’d sent Nana to bed in the guest room while she collected the wrapping paper. By old, frugal habit, she sat on the couch under the twinkling lights and smoothed and rolled any piece big enough to reuse, though nearly all had torn edges rather than carefully severed bits of tape, and she could bet Ramona would throw it all out anyway.

Sure enough, there were footsteps in the hall—she didn’t have to look up to know they were Ramona’s; she always knew where Ramona was in space, a work habit—and then, “What are you doing?” It was half volume, a babies-in-bed voice, and her chuckle was quiet. “What, you think I can’t buy wrapping paper? After that present I gave you?”

Then Ramona came over and sat beside her and tugged on her arm, “C’mere, baby” so she lay against her chest on the couch. She knew this Ramona mood: wanting to sit a little longer in the dregs of the celebration. They were both sober now, or close enough—even Ramona didn’t overdo it around the girls. Family was rarer than champagne. Ramona’s face was in her hair. “You smell like meat.” She could hear the smile, always a smile: between the two of them, everything was almost a joke.

“Yeah, well, you smell like—” She tilted her face into Ramona’s shirt. Sweat and expensive perfume, that was what she smelled like. Ramona didn’t have one smell; there were some she went back to, but she loved to play.

“Serge Lutens Rousse.” Still that laugh in her voice. Ramona pronounced it loo-tins, which was probably wrong, didn’t sound very French, but who was she to question Ramona about perfume? “I thought a little cinnamon would be appropriate.”

“It’s nice.”

“Yeah?” _Nice_ was always adequate praise with Ramona. They both knew there were a whole lot of things worse than _nice_ , figured _nice_ was plenty to shoot for. Anything better than _nice_ was just fun, for them. And they got to have so much fun together, dancing on the knife’s edge. 

Ramona had one hand in her hair now, the other still holding her in place. Instead of lulling her to sleep, the touch woke her up. Most of the time she knew them as pragmatic, clever hands, placing straps, affixing safety pins, dosing drinks, touching whatever would make them the most money. But Ramona was gentler than she had any right to be. “Destiny?” she said.

“Mm,” she corrected—it was always so easy to relax, wrapped up in Ramona, to say things she might not have otherwise. “Dorothy. Destiny’s my name at work. Family calls me Dorothy.” The only person who called her Dorothy these days was Nana, but then, family hadn’t historically been an extensive group.

Ramona kissed her head, and she suppressed a shiver. “Dorothy,” she said. “What did you want for Christmas when you were a kid?”

 _My mom back_ , she didn’t say. “I never wanted anything when I was a kid more than I wanted that fur once I opened it up,” she said instead, honestly.

“Yeaaaaah, that was a pretty good one,” Ramona said, sounding pleased with herself. Dorothy wanted to look at her. She shuffled so she had her hands on the couch, on either side of Ramona’s waist, and was holding herself up on them.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she said into Ramona’s wide grin, easy like she didn’t feel the energy shift when Dorothy’s body moved.

Then Ramona lifted her knee between Dorothy’s, still with that smirk, and she raised her eyebrow as though to say, _Your move_.

Dorothy ground against it once, firmly, as she leaned in to lick the salt and cinnamon from Ramona’s neck. Then there was a hand on the back of her head, so she stayed there, lapping at a vein. Ramona’s direction was how she knew what to strive for, what to be. For Ramona, she’d have brought home straight As; for Ramona, she’d burned her thighs on a pole until she learned to manage. For Ramona, she’d have the kind of sex where you laughed and listened, she’d try to feel everything she did.

“What are you, a kitten?” Ramona was still using that quiet, laughing voice, but she tugged on Dorothy’s hair. Dorothy looked at her straight-on, challenging. Ramona’s face was lit with all the colors on the Christmas tree. “Tell me what you want, baby,” she almost whispered.

“We gotta get behind a door,” she said. The girls could wake up; Nana could wake up, and come out here, and that would be the kind of embarrassment you’d never get over.

“Okay,” said Ramona with a nod, “let’s go.”

They didn’t get to it right away. Ramona pulled a box out of her closet—locked, “God, can you imagine Juju stumbling on this?”—and opened it between them, suggested a few favorites, teasing. She put on the finger vibe first, turned it on right away, rubbed it over Dorothy’s still-clothed calf so she giggled. “Come on,” she said, like it was Christmas, because it was Christmas, because Ramona loved nothing more than giving her what she wanted. “Pick a couple, baby. We got four hands and two tongues.”

After—right after, when she’d gotten up to pee and decided not to shower and concluded that Ramona was touchy enough that when she got back into bed she could press up against her into any kind of cuddle she could sleep through—she went to check on Lily. Ramona would need the bathroom, anyway, and she always preferred to get in bed second, to work with a known quantity. Both the girls were out, their heavy breaths silencing the room. Lily had always been a good sleeper. She knew it was a lucky accident, but Dorothy took pride in it anyway, how her daughter slept the sleep of someone cared-for. She herself had always been prone to nightmares, confusion on waking, fitful nights. When she was too old to pad into Nana’s room, she’d walked out and turned the TV on silent for the light and the company. But here Lily was in a strange bed, slack-faced and wild-limbed and still.

She could feel Ramona hovering inches from her back, a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, babygirl,” she murmured. “It’s getting late. Mamas gotta sleep too.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Ramona pressed up against her back, grabbed her arms. Normal, everyday gestures for them. “They’re safe,” she said. “They’ll still be here in the morning. We’ll leave the door open, if you want. But if you don’t come to bed right fuckin’ now, you’re gonna get all of twenty minutes before that baby wakes you up.”

It wouldn’t be the first time. For either of them, Dorothy was sure. Still, she obeyed. She tugged the covers up haphazardly, in one spot, but Ramona slid up beside her and tidied the edge, made sure her shoulders were covered. Then she didn’t leave, but stayed right there beside her. They faced each other, and Ramona’s breath landed on Dorothy’s chest. When it turned even, Dorothy matched it.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't read any Hustlers fic before I wrote this - I didn't want to have to talk myself out of anything that might have been well-covered already, particularly the name thing, which I am slightly concerned may be a feature of like...a lot of Ramona/Destiny fics - but I'm looking forward to diving into it now. I bet some of my fav Ocean's 8 fic writers have made stops here. Thanks for the prompt, angelheadedhipster. I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
